


Beatus

by eldritcher



Series: The Heralds of Dusk [18]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Drama & Romance, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2765837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond's world was all right. It would continue to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perkyandproud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perkyandproud/gifts).



> A happy epilogue for the poor characters of Sunset. Written for perky_and_proud.

Fic: Beatus  
Word count: ~18000. Complete.  
Warnings: Adult romantic content m/m. No plot. Shameless fluff.  
Elrond eats scones, walks a lot, becomes a kept man, talks a lot, and eats more scones.

(The story is not polished. It's not even a story. It's something that surfaced when I was cleaning my HD.)

 

 

 

“Elrond!”

Elrond put down the pumpkin scone he had been buttering and scowled.

“Elrond, you old devil, come out, will you?”

Elrond scowled more. Of course, that did not help him at all, for the next instant saw a breathless pair of fools stumbling into his elegant dining chamber. With a soft cry of alarm, Elrond rose to intercept the duo before they could crash into his breakfast. He was late, as ever, he reflected morosely, as the intruders fell upon him and soundly pronounced the untimely demise of his dining chair.

And his ribs.

He scowled more.

A sudden lap of wetness from the general direction of his chest nearly undid the tight lid he had kept over his formidable temper.

Just as well that Thranduil wisely chose to distract him saying, “Your left nipple still tastes the same.”

Elrond groaned and closed his eyes as Erestor followed that illuminating statement with, “Cinnamon. It tastes like cinnamon.”

Elrond had not thought that blushing was possible at his age. Of course, he had failed to take into count the fact that he was singularly misfortunate to have as friends the two randiest men to ever have lived. He bit his lip, willed himself to ignore the salacious discussion which ensued, concentrated on edging away his lower body from the mass of limbs their fall had resulted in.

“What is going on here?” Glorfindel’s voice reflected his obvious amusement. “Why, Elrond, this is interesting!”

Glorfindel probably knew what had brought about the interruption of Elrond’s breakfast. After all, Glorfindel rarely let Erestor or Thranduil out of his sight these days. Thranduil often complained that the elder Elf’s coddling was choking the life out of him.

“Help them up,” Elrond said through gritted teeth.

Glorfindel clucked and made witty rejoinders before helping the miscreants to stand. Elrond slowly opened his eyes. Erestor had collapsed into the nearest chair and was fiddling with the artificial limb which must have been disturbed by the fall. He was paler than usual, sweat glistened on his forehead, and Elrond looked away from the pain he could not bear to see on those dear features. Thranduil was running his fingers over the tabletop, exclaiming in delight when they brushed the scones. Elrond accepted Glorfindel’s hand of assistance and watched uneasily as Thranduil handled the cutlery with aplomb before bringing a slice of scone to his lips. At that moment, Elrond felt a sense of déjà-vu so strong that he staggered and turned away from the sight. Lindon, Greenwood, Imladris, Lothlorien, Gondor – oh, in how many places had he seen Thranduil making love to his food. But Elrond could not watch it now, not when he would see the absence of lust and appreciation and a thousand other emotions in those green eyes.

Erestor seemed to have caught his breath, for he asked presently, “You are yet to ask us why we have graced you with our presence so early in the day.”

“Doubtless you will have some particularly sordid tale to regale me with,” Elrond said with forced lightness, striving to push the past into a little cubicle of his mind where it should stay locked, along with many other things.

“Doubtless,” Thranduil replied. “How is it that you know us so well?”

Elrond laughed and tugged Glorfindel to a chair before taking the sole remaining place at the table. Thranduil remained standing and Elrond knew that nothing he said would convince Thranduil to be seated. Thranduil, Elrond had often thought, lived for fluttering and dancing and moving and dramatic entrances and exits. Oropher’s little green butterfly.

“Let me tell you our tale of tragic voyeurism.” Thranduil began with his characteristic flourish that made Elrond and Glorfindel roll their eyes in fond amusement. “I am widowed and Erestor is, however shall I put this, mm?

“In the doghouse,” Erestor said succinctly. Elrond winced at the phrasing and turned his attention to the scones.

“Even now?” Glorfindel asked, his voice three shades of amusement and a shade of concern.

“Even now,” Erestor lamented.

“It is for your good health,” Elrond murmured. “The seizures come upon you whenever you exert yourself beyond your limits.”

“You could at least let him watch,” Thranduil suggested.

Elrond did not blush. He convinced himself that he did not blush. Then he said flatly, “I refuse to discuss my intimate life with you. Now tell me what you deemed worthy of destroying my morning peace.”

“A ship has been sighted,” Glorfindel said. “These cretins took it into their empty heads to ride breakneck pace to tell you of the tidings.” Less insult than endearment marked his words and Elrond could not help a smile.

“Our sons,” Erestor interjected. “Blood of our blood, bone of our bones-”

“-and fruit of our semen,” Thranduil finished neatly. “It awes me how children are created from fluids.”

Elrond shook his head in exasperation even as he ducked to hide his sigh of relief. The brush of Glorfindel’s palm over his shoulder told him that his evasion had not passed undetected. It was unsettling to have friends who knew him more than he wished they did. Yet, at the moment, with the knowledge that his children and Laiqua would soon drop anchor in Alqualonde, Elrond decided to count his blessings. He returned to his scones and ignored reacting to every salacious tale Thranduil and Erestor regaled them with.

“You are no entertainment, Elrond,” Thranduil muttered finally. “Erestor, game for wheedling a pie from the cook?”

“Always, Thranduil, always.”

With new purpose lighting their steps, they made their way out.

“Such grace even in clumsiness,” Glorfindel murmured.

It was true. Elrond often wondered how the two could be so aware of each other’s movements. Erestor’s eyes would keep Thranduil from perilous paths just as Thranduil’s strength kept Erestor upright. When Erestor decided that one leg short did not forbid him from riding and swimming, they had all feared. With Thranduil, and with a lot of clumsiness, he was happily muddling through.

“Thank you for watching over them,” Elrond told Glorfindel.

“Someone has to,” Glorfindel replied. “They have you wrapped around their joint little finger. It is wiser that I be there to keep them in line.”

“I cannot cage them, Glorfindel,” Elrond said quietly. “They remind me of butterflies. Always have reminded me of butterflies. Bright. Free. They would perish if confined.”

Glorfindel frowned at the comparison before saying mischievously, “That does not explain why you continue to banish Erestor to the doghouse. The entire land knows of the tale of the thwarted lover.”

“It helps that Erestor plays the thwarted lover so effortlessly,” Elrond remarked dryly.

Glorfindel frowned again. Elrond was about to advice less frowning when the other shrugged and leant forward with the mien of a man who was about to impart some unpalatable truth.

“Go on, then,” Elrond muttered.

“He did not react well when Gil distanced himself from the activities of the boudoir.” Glorfindel paused and inspected his nails before steeling himself to continue. “He is a passionate man. Denying him will do no good.”

Elrond scowled. Was Glorfindel implying what he thought was being implied? Elrond did not like it. Not in the least. And he knew Erestor well enough. If Erestor had been angry, he would not come to Elrond’s bed every night and request admittance. If Erestor had been determined, he could have had Elrond any time he wanted to for Elrond had never been able to deny his lover anything. Erestor had chosen the middle path instead: coming every night, making no deliberate effort to charm his way into Elrond’s bed, yet giving Elrond the option of inviting him each day.

“Thranduil.” Glorfindel was hurrying through his words. “They are both prone to indiscretions when idle.”

Elrond reined in his anger at the last few words. Hadn’t Erestor castigated himself for years over what he considered infidelity to the vows made to Gil? Thranduil had gone through the same when he had embarked on his relationship with Gildor.

“It is not fair to either of them, Elrond.” Glorfindel rubbed his temples. “I know you have your reasons. I agree with you on the subject of abstinence. But you must at least speak with Erestor more firmly on this. The stunts with Thranduil must stop.”

Yes. The breakneck horse races, diving from the highest cliffs of Alqualonde, the daredevil sword practice. Everything would have to stop.

“I thought it would end,” Elrond whispered, feeling helpless and lost and miserable and cold. Freedom so dearly won tasted like salt in his mouth. “I wanted it to end after the war.”

“So did I,” Glorfindel said softly.

“I cannot clip his wings, Glorfindel,” Elrond said shakily. “I cannot do that to him. If I forbid him the races and the sword and everything else that makes him vibrant and alive, then I would be a greater monster than fate.”

“Yet you have barred him from your bed so that you can be spared the sight of those seizures,” Glorfindel said.

That night had been glorious. It had been perfect as always. And Erestor had stiffened suddenly and collapsed onto his chest. Elrond had been in the throes of orgasm and failed to mark the trembling and the convulsions until tears had fallen onto his chest. Elrond’s fingers had been damp and shaky as they smoothed soft circles on his lover’s spine. For a moment, when he heard Erestor sob and felt saliva and tears on his neck, with convulsing limbs clutching at Elrond’s flanks in panicked desperation, and with the heartbeat against Elrond’s chest drumming a rapid staccato, Elrond had feared that it would end with his lover dying in his arms, still joined together as they were in the act of congress. Erestor had fainted then.

From the next night, Elrond had barred his lover from his bed.

The seizures had started plaguing Erestor shortly after the last war. Thalion suspected an injury to the brain which they might have overlooked in their haste to amputate the mangled leg. The first time Erestor had had a seizure, he had been playing hopscotch with Aralote. The girl had been terrified. Erestor had been equally terrified by the convulsions, loss of coordination and the blinding pain. Luckily, Celebrian had not panicked and she had sent for Thalion.

They had hoped that it would not happen again. But Thalion’s verdict proved true and Erestor had started succumbing to the seizures with increasing frequency of late.

“If Galadriel were here,” Glorfindel shook his head and ceased speaking.

“Her knowledge of healing did not exceed Thalion’s or mine,” Elrond said quietly, striving to find that calm blanket of reason which eluded him now. “How then did she heal Amroth where we could not? How did she keep Oropher alive?”

“Her mind.” Glorfindel looked unsettled. “I mean no disrespect to the dead, Elrond, but I must say that some of the methods she followed were unethical. No healer would sanction it.”

“The sanctity of the mind?” Elrond questioned.

“Yes,” Glorfindel said sharply. “They called it perception. While Galadriel was perceptive enough, some of her knowledge could not have been credited to that.”

Elrond wondered briefly what secret of Glorfindel had been stolen in this manner. Then he said, “I would not care as long as she could heal Erestor.”

“I agree.”

“Thranduil’s mind could control Greenwood. But it drained him to the threshold of death.” Elrond mused on the matter for a while before asking, “Is there anyone else? Ingwe? Nerdanel? Eonwe? Melian?”

“Perhaps you should ask Melian,” Glorfindel said thoughtfully. “The power of Melyanna’s mind held Doriath safe, did it not? Yet it is said that her power waned in the later ages and she returned to these shores a drained husk. I would ask Nerdanel. Legend speaks of how Feanaro willed his core into his jewels. Nerdanel might have an inkling regarding how to achieve our ends with the force of will.”

* * *

“Nerdanel!”

Elrond had no cause to regret following Glorfindel’s advice, not once in the long years of their friendship. So he lost no time in seeking Nerdanel. She was, as was her wont, in her forge, teaching young students to melt and mould metal.

“Elrond!”

Nerdanel seemed equally surprised and pleased. Elrond did understand her surprise. It was unusual for him to call on others. He succumbed to society only when Erestor insisted upon it.

“Did you hear the latest harebrained scheme that husband of yours has come up with?” was her first question.

Nerdanel was the only person who called Erestor his husband. Elrond liked her for that.

“I rarely keep track of his schemes. He has so many,” he said frankly.

Erestor had set to his mischief-making in earnest. He had stirred the fishmongers of Alqualonde and made them form a guild so that they could set the prices of fish on a seasonal basis instead of the fixed prices Melian had imposed. Not satisfied with just that, he had taken himself to Finarfin’s administration and upturned everything. He called it streamlining. Finarfin called it meddling.

“That layabout whelp of Ingwe is on it,” Nerdanel said with manifest disapproval ringing in her tones.

“They usually hatch their ideas together,” Elrond replied.

Thranduil had been revamping laws and practices in Valmar but Ingwe and Thalion were there to moderate his more extreme suggestions. Thranduil might have run roughshod over Thalion but he found it impossible to do so over Ingwe. Ingwe handled Thranduil with a delicate expertise that often reminded Elrond of Oropher. Perhaps, as Glorfindel had suggested, he should seek some lessons from Ingwe on the subject of reining in too enthusiastic proponents of progress.

He fought a smile and asked, “My father was never a handful as Erestor is, I assume?”

He really could not imagine Maglor running all over creation the way Erestor did.

“Macalaurë was the best of the lot,” Nerdanel said with her usual bluntness. “My sense and Feanaro’s looks.”

Elrond liked her for her no-nonsense approach to life. It was simple. He trusted her because of that. He had trusted Maglor for the same reason. With Galadriel it had been so difficult to glean specks of truth from webs of lies. Though, to be fair, Elrond had to admit that she had been easier on his nerves than her eldest cousin who had unnerved quite many brave men.

“He never got along with his father though,” Nerdanel was saying. “Too like in temperament they were.”

To Elrond, Feanor was a larger than life statue that stood in the courtyard of Finarfin’s palace. He had difficulty imagining that demigod arguing with the rather slightly-built Maglor.

“If you cannot tell your husband what makes you drive him away at nights, you are going to make life very difficult for yourself, young man. Mark my words.”

Elrond stared at her in fearful astonishment while she continued with her ungentle bluntness, “I have no wish to ever see another broken marriage. Talk. Resolve. It would at least burn out his excess energy.”

“His health, Nerdanel,” Elrond hissed quietly through gritted teeth. “The seizures come upon him when he exerts himself past limits. Our last attempt resulted in one such seizure. Thankfully, he remembers none of it.” He hated how his voice broke when he said softly, “I cannot do it, Nerdanel. He is the most courageous man I know. Yet the pain overcame him so.”

Nerdanel’s breath caught at the misery evident in her companion’s voice. Then she patted his clasped fingers in an awkward gesture of comfort.

“Thalion?”

“Can do nothing,” Elrond said tersely. “Neither can I. Glorfindel believes that Galadriel could have aided.”

Nerdanel took her time before saying thoughtfully, “Perhaps. She learned what she knew of healing in Middle-Earth. However, what Glorfindel refers to is not healing, I would say. Exerting your will is instinctive. As far as I know, Galadriel was the last to show skill in this realm.”

“Could it be learned through practice?” Elrond wondered hopefully.

Nerdanel laughed saying, “Elrond. From what I know of you, you exhibit little to no potential. You loathe manipulations, you hate politics and you are terrible at lying.”

“So was Ada,” Elrond said stubbornly. “Did he not break the walls of Formenos with his will? And Feanor? Did he not will himself into the jewels?”

“No, Elrond.” Nerdanel’s tone had gentled. Elrond knew that he would not like what would follow. “Feanaro was a tool manipulated by the Valar. As for Macalaurë, he had a fine will. But we both know that he was not capable of such destruction. The will driving him that day was not his own.”

There was nothing Elrond could say to that. In a bid to lighten the sober pall of their conversation, he remarked, “I never thought that a day would come when I would wish Galadriel alive.”

“She would have found it hilarious that you need her aid.”

“She would have made me beg for it too,” Elrond observed wryly.

“That she would have done, Elrond.” Nerdanel laughed.

* * *

 

The charade began after supper. Erestor had donned a suitably indecent robe and was lounging on the large bed, every inch of him a living promise of debauchery. Had he not done it for very many nights now? Elrond was tired of this. How could Erestor not tire of this?

Wise, black eyes narrowed and Erestor seemed to understand that this day would be different. He sat up and frowned. The light from the candles cast unflattering hues on his bony frame and sunken cheeks. Sleep deprivation, the healer in Elrond marked. Yet, to Elrond, he was impossibly beautiful just as he had been two Ages ago when Elrond had looked upon this living paean to perfection in the sun-washed gardens of Lindon.

“You frighten me when you look at me so,” Erestor said quietly.

“How do I look at you?” Elrond enquired, leaning against the door jamb to steady himself.

“As if you won’t see me again,” Erestor whispered.

Elrond was taken aback by the silent fear in those dark eyes. Glorfindel must have spoken to Erestor already on the matter. Elrond suppressed a curse and sought to find words enough to assure.

“Do you think I would cage you?” Elrond asked softly.

“That night, I saw your face, afterwards. You thought I had fainted. I was still drifting between consciousness and blackness. I saw your face.”

Elrond paled and clutched the door jamb tightly for support. He watched helplessly as anguish wreaked Erestor’s features before determination chased it away.

“It took me by surprise,” Elrond said gently. “That is all. We both had been handling it remarkably well ever since the seizures began. I suppose, one way or the other, this was long in the coming.”

“Yet you would rather that I had not nearly died in your arms,” Erestor ferreted out the truth with his usual adeptness.

To that, Elrond could say nothing.

“Thalion suspects a head injury,” Erestor said. “He said that, barring intense physical taxation, I would be perfectly safe from seizures.”

“I know.”

“I cannot do it,” Erestor confessed, his eyes wide and fearful, his lips bitterly twisted. “I cannot stop being what I am. If a leg amputated has not tied me to the homestead, will this succeed in doing so?”

Elrond said in his gentlest tone, “I would never ask you to stop riding or daredevil physical activities. You are your own man, Erestor. I will never take that from you, not even if it is the only way.”

It would have only one end, Elrond knew. He was a healer. He knew how close they had come to death’s jaws last time. After speaking with Nerdanel, he had decided on his course. There was no living person who could heal Erestor. Elrond could not and would not cage Erestor, not even if he had to do that in order to save him.

Once he had deprived Erestor of choice to save his life, long ago, in the desolation of Mordor. He had been young. Erestor had been young. They had had nothing to lose at that juncture. At the worst, they might have both died. Now they had everything to lose. Elrond would not risk their love by depriving Erestor of choice again.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Erestor asked after a long silence. “I have not been sleeping well.”

Yes, Elrond could well see that absence of sleep telling in the sunken eyes and the brittle exhaustion of his friend. Elrond himself had resorted to sedatives to find the sleep that had fled his bed after Erestor’s departure.

“Elrond, please?”

If the words had not undone Elrond, then the broken tone would have done so. Erestor had rarely begged for anything, of anyone, in all the time Elrond had known him.

So there was nothing to be done but for quickly making his way to Erestor’s seated form and pressing a chaste kiss to that beloved forehead.

When he felt thin hands unconsciously gripping him to his sleeping lover’s chest that night, Elrond knew that he would not survive the absence of those hands about him.

 

 

He commended himself for his brilliant idea next morning. With a spring in his step, he made his way to Celebrian’s little cottage on the outskirts of the city. Erestor would not wake before his return, he was sure. His friend had not even woken up when Elrond had untangled himself early in the morning. That spoke of the level of exhaustion he must be plagued by.

“Elrond!”

“Call him Lord Elrond,” Celebrian chastised the little girl even as she beckoned Elrond in.

Elrond spared the young imp a glare and a scowl before making his way into the homely cottage. Odds and ends littered the floor and the simple furniture lending the abode a pleasing air of rusticity. Celebrian, Elrond reflected, had turned out to be more Sindarin in nature than all her forefathers. She loved gardening and long walks in the arborages. She insisted on teaching and caring for her child instead of delegating the tasks to her maids. In fact, she had done away with servants. Finarfin had been absolutely scandalised on seeing Celebrian’s humble cottage and had spent days arguing that this was not the place to bring up a young child. With the easy determination which was her hallmark now, Celebrian had reassured him that no harm would come to Aralote and sent him back to his empty palace. Finarfin had tired of loneliness very quickly and was now usually found in the cottage complaining to little Aralote about Celebrian’s pig-headedness.

“You are all coming, aren’t you?” Celebrian asked as she set a plate of muffins on the rickety table and pushed Elrond into the nearest chair.

“I was wondering if I could persuade you to ask for the carriage,” Elrond replied as he nibbled on a muffin. She made the most delicious muffins. Thranduil and Erestor could be found sneaking in and out of her kitchen at all times. “Erestor rode from Alqualonde yesterday at his usual pace and we were lucky to be spared another seizure. If he taxes himself with riding today, it will be inevitable.”

“He had a seizure on the road yesterday, Elrond,” Celebrian said worriedly. “Luckily for him, Thranduil dismounted in time to cushion Erestor’s fall. I heard of the tale from Glorfindel.”

So Glorfindel had thought to keep Elrond in the dark about this latest disaster. Elrond was not surprised.

“I will ask for the carriage, of course,” Celebrian murmured. “But how will you get him to stay inside?”

 

 

* * *

Celebrian’s resourcefulness had no bounds, Elrond thought fondly. She had brought Aralote and now the little girl was tagging after Erestor with the tenacity of a limpet.

“Please?”

Erestor had always been susceptible to pouting lips and tearful eyes. This occasion proved no different. Perhaps, Elrond mused, he should practice pouting. It could not be very difficult, after all, given that a young girl was so adept at it.

“Oh, very well!” Erestor exclaimed finally as he scooped her up into his arms. Thranduil gently lent his support to balance them. “We will ride in the carriage and I will tell you all about them.”

“I am coming too,” Thranduil said. “I am not riding alone.”

Elrond suppressed a sigh of relief. He had been planning how to bundle a protesting Thranduil into the carriage.

“Get in with them, Elrond,” Glorfindel said. “Celebrian can ride alongside me.”

Luck seemed to favour Elrond that day, for Erestor and Thranduil made no remark on the arrangements. Elrond tried not to think of the possibility that his friends were aware of their physical limitations. It was his lot to worry about them. They were meant to be unruly and bright and without an iota of self-preservation embedded in their brains.

“You look terrible,” Aralote was telling Erestor. “Aren’t you eating well?”“This is what happens when you don’t eat your vegetables when your mother asks you to,” Thranduil explained confidently. “Now look at me. I look exceptionally handsome because I ate my vegetables.”

The chattering died when Aralote fell asleep after a while, her head in Erestor’s lap and her lips parted on a soft snore. Elrond and Thranduil were seated across them. After a while, Erestor’s eyes faded into the unseeing pools of reverie.

Thranduil must have marked the changed pace of breathing, for he took the opportunity to grip Elrond’s shoulder to brace himself, and then bent forward to brush Erestor’s face with his other hand. Then he cursed softly and whispered, “The girl is right, Elrond. He looks terrible.”

Elrond did not need Thranduil to point out the obvious. So he made a noncommittal noise and remained silent.

“It is better than yesterday, though,” Thranduil went on.

“What?” Elrond demanded. “He had a seizure yesterday. Celebrian told me. You thought to keep it from me, no doubt.”

“I fear that one of the seizures might prove fatal, when we ride or dive or dance or spar.” Thranduil took a deep breath. “You have washed your hands of it, Elrond. The only times he has a seizure now is when he is with me. Perhaps it is for the best, given that I cannot see him in the throes of it. But I can hear his cries and feel his convulsions and smell his tears. It frightens me beyond anything.”

Elrond felt a rising surge of sympathy for Thranduil. They both loved Erestor equally, in their own ways.

“I intend to spare you the sight of it, Elrond, as long as it is in my power to do so. You can make love to him, as often as you wish, gently and softly. His seizures will be all in the daylight in the wake of our daredevil adventures. You need not see them at all. I cannot see them. We are both spared the sight of them this way. I know his limits and I will not let him be carried away. I will not let him be taken from us.”

“Ernil,” Elrond began softly, overwhelmed by the declaration.

“Hush now, and listen to me,” Thranduil cut in. “He is better than he was yesterday. Whatever you did yesterday, keep doing it.”

Elrond frowned and assessed Erestor’s countenance with the critical eye of a healer.

“I know I am right, Elrond,” Thranduil said irritably. “So don’t send him away.”

Elrond nodded. Thranduil began singing softly and Elrond rested his head on his friend’s shoulder sighing in contentment when he felt Thranduil’s arm coming around his waist to rest on his stomach. For the first time in many days, Elrond felt a spark of hope blooming in his chest. It was always so, he thought fondly. He would snap and snarl at Thranduil, and then fall on his knees with his tattered courage refusing to take him a step further, and then Thranduil would drag him up and put him back on the path after imbuing him with fresh will. Thranduil had endless reserves of that thing Elrond called hope.

“Whatever are you now worrying about?” Thranduil asked exasperatedly.

“Nothing at all,” Elrond assured him.

He sighed as he felt Thranduil’s lips gently brushing his forehead.

* * *

  



	2. Chapter 2

Elrond had not come down to the docks even once after the war. He took in the hustle and bustle of the busy shipyard as they waited for the little grey vessel to drop anchor.

“Lord Erestor!” a fishmonger called out. “We have lobsters!”

“Oh!” Erestor exclaimed happily.

Then, with a glance at Elrond, who nodded in amusement, Erestor took off with Aralote in his arms. Elrond grinned as he watched his friend bargain hard with the fishmonger while inspecting the lobsters. Beside Elrond, Glorfindel make a disapproving clearing of his throat. Glorfindel never did approve of fraternising with fishmongers or the other lower classes. Elrond believed that Erestor interacted with the shepherds and the fishermen just to shock Glorfindel. Elrond himself did not hold with social class divisions. But then, he had been raised in an unconventional household.

When little Aralote reached out her small palm to touch a fish on display, Glorfindel snarled and went over to put an end to the bargaining. Elrond chuckled and returned his gaze to the nearing vessel. Thranduil was standing with Carnilote and engrossed in deep discussion. Elrond wondered if he might join them but decided against it. He held no sympathy for a woman who had abandoned her newborn child. They said she had had no choice, but Elrond simply loathed her. He loathed nearly all women, he supposed, with the possible exception of Celebrian and Nerdanel.

“What is that thing?” Nerdanel’s voice broke into his misogynistic musings.

Elrond looked up at the ship and saw a bearded form hovering near Laiqua’s slender waist. The Dwarf! The young Dwarf that Erestor had sent on the Ringbearer’s quest by plying a grumpy father with ale and flattery.

“I wonder if they are lovers,” Thranduil said, prurient interest lightening his voice.

“Only you!” Erestor huffed as he joined his friend with Aralote settled with her legs tucked loosely about his waist.

Elrond felt a pang of wretched self-recrimination each time he saw Erestor doting on the girl. It was so evident that Erestor loved children. Between Gil, Elrond and Celebrian, they had never allowed him the choice to woo and marry and sire. Erestor loved their sons. That was a fact set in stone. Yet every time he looked upon them, the faintest shadow of regret would darken his eyes.

“Elrond?” Erestor asked, sparing him a glance before turning his eyes to the boat.

“You didn’t buy the lobsters?”

“Maybe the next time I come,” Erestor said absently. “You hate the smell.”

As much as Elrond liked to think they had not changed in the least from the beginning days of their acquaintance, moments like these showed how much they had changed. They had become more considerate towards each other.

“Ada!”

Legolas was shouting, sheer joy transforming his austere features into incandescence. Elrond had forgotten how painfully the lad resembled Oropher. On the docks, Thranduil gripped Erestor’s thin wrist. Elrond cursed fate once more as wistfulness washed Thranduil’s features as the father tried to pinpoint the direction his son’s voice had come from.

The ship docked and Elrond wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his robes. Four Elves and one Dwarf disembarked and got into the bobbing boat which had been hovering for a long while now in anticipation of the ship’s docking.

Elladan looked splendidly well, Elrond noted in relief. Elrohir looked content. They were grinning and chattering to Laiqua and the Dwarf as they pointed out sights and people. Laiqua was nodding his head obligingly at all the right moments, but he seemed to be observing Thranduil and Erestor with concern writ large on his features. Elrond stiffened as he saw Laiqua’s gaze widen in horrified realisation. The twins did not notice it, but the Dwarf nudged Laiqua who simply shook his head and remained silent. By Laiqua sat Lindir who was taking in the sight of Alqualonde which must be bringing him an avalanche of memories best lost to time.

Too soon, and yet too slowly, did the boat finally reach them. Elladan and Elrohir fairly leapt off the boat and shimmed up the planks. Laiqua helped the Dwarf and then courteously thanked the oarsmen before waiting for Lindir to register the end of their journey. He offered an encouraging smile to the elder Elf and then gently led him ashore.

Oropher, Elrond’s mind clamoured. Oropher had smiled so when Elrond the orphan had been battling Galadriel’s wiles. Oropher had offered a kind word and a roof over his head when Elrond had been drowning in love’s agony.

“Ada!” Elladan was exclaiming in pure distress.

“I can’t see, Erestor lost a leg, Elrond lost his sense or whatever little he had in the first place, and Glorfindel came through unscathed.” Thranduil grinned as he heard the four stricken gasps. “It is not so bad. Erestor and I still drive Elrond to madness. Glorfindel still believes that he is entitled to ruling us by virtue of his ancient origins. From somewhere far away, your grandmother and Gildor are cackling madly on seeing us fight over slices of the plum pies.”

“Thranduil, you are frightening the children,” Erestor murmured. His eyes were greedy and shining in happiness as they took in Elladan and Elrohir. “Elrond, where are you?”

“Here, here.” Elrond moved to stand beside him. “I thought it would be for the best if the two of you got the explanations out of the way.”

“Well, give us a hug, won’t you?” Erestor demanded imperiously, looking every inch the commander of men and armies he had once been.

Elladan gave a weak chuckle before obeying that order. Elrohir gulped on seeing the wooden leg before nodding shakily and following suit. Elrond let his right hand loop over Erestor’s thin waist and his right hand came to rest on Elladan’s shoulder as they embraced.

“Can they play noughts and crosses?” Aralote asked crossly, sounding quite smothered from the crook of Erestor’s arm. Elrond supposed it was fortunate that she had not protested so far. “I won’t let them play with me otherwise.”

“Who?” Elrohir began as he stepped back hastily and looked at the little limpet that had remained leeched onto Erestor even through their embrace.

“Meet your sister,” Elrond said softly. “Aralote, the little miracle.”

“I thought you did not like me,” Aralote said suspiciously as she craned her head to look at him. Those eyes Elrond remembered on another face.

Elladan grinned in true pleasure as he watched the little girl glaring at Elrond. Elrohir too smiled and then came forward tentatively to reach out with his hands. Aralote looked at Erestor, who nodded assent, and then she fairly leapt into Elrohir’s hands.

“Whoa, there!” Elrohir laughed as he twirled her about. Her ribbons and pigtails flew wild in the air.

“The lass looks like Lady Galadriel!” Gimli exclaimed as he came closer and peered at her. She reached out to tug at his hair and said excitedly, “So thick!”

“Naneth?” Elladan asked Elrond quietly. “She did-?” he cleared his throat and looked away.

“She came with us, Elladan. I think she might have detoured to see Melian.” Elrond smiled and embraced his son once again. “I am glad, Elladan. I am glad to have you both where you belong. With us.”

“Grandfather?” Elladan asked again, his eyes betraying hope and fear and a thousand other emotions.

Celeborn. Yes. Elrond had liked, still liked Celeborn more than he had ever liked Galadriel. Celeborn was many things, but he was true to his blood. He had been a veritable dragon when it came to keeping Celebrian safe. On occasions, his protectiveness had extended to the twins.

“He survived her?” Elladan questioned. “I thought he wouldn’t.”

Long, long ago, Gil-Galad had predicted over wine and venison that Galadriel and Celeborn would not survive each other. Elladan’s words brought back to Elrond his cousin’s jesting words.

“He is fragile,” Elrond admitted. “He is here, though.”

Celeborn was here. That was all that could be said. His soul and mind had gnawed their way out and fled with the last sunset, following the herald who had closed the door of yesterday behind her.

“How are you, Ada?” asked Elladan solemnly.

“I am-” Elrond hesitated before saying, “I am content.”

 

Laiqua hovered about Thranduil. There was guilt on his face and Elrond was glad that Thranduil could not see that. Too many choices made and paths taken had come between father and son. Perhaps, one day, they would rediscover their old relationship. Elrond hoped.

Elrohir had not left Lindir’s side all evening and Elrond was proud of his son’s loyalty to his lover. Elladan was speaking with the Dwarf. Some time earlier, Mithrandir, Thalion and Melian had arrived. Mithrandir was now speaking with Glorfindel. Thalion and Melian were watching Laiqua. Perhaps he reminded them of Oropher, Elrond thought.

“Lindir and Elrohir are looking well, aren’t they? Something good came of that bloody war,” Erestor muttered as he took the seat beside Elrond.

“We broke the inkpot after our enthusiastic session on the hearthrug. I believe we scarred Arwen permanently when she walked in upon us,” Elrond reminded his friend.

A dull flush of red graced Erestor’s cheekbones and Elrond chuckled as he took in the splendour that was Erestor in the midnight blue silken ceremonial robes.

“Ravishing. Edible,” Elrond whispered.

“Don’t tease when you have forbidden me from indulging in you.” Erestor softened his words by a warm smile and Elrond was glad for that. “The robes are from Cirdan. He spoils me so,” Erestor remarked. “I wonder why he did not come to the docks. I thought he might.”

“Since when does Cirdan attend garden parties and marriages?” Elrond enquired.

Erestor was about to reply in Cirdan’s defence when Aralote scampered onto his lap and started chattering away.

After the last war in Valinor, Elrond no longer hated Cirdan. Yes, the mariner annoyed him. But it was not hatred anymore. Elrond could not hate a man who had fostered generations of a family for the sake of a dead man.

“Settle down, settle down,” Nerdanel commanded as she entered with Finarfin and Eonwe. She must have been quite the match for Feanor, Elrond decided. She was not a woman who could be walked over.

Laiqua rose to greet the lady, his good manners telling volumes of Thranduil’s parental abilities. Elrond grinned.

“Sit down, young man,” Nerdanel said sharply. “We stand on no ceremony here. And no lording over each other. Arafinwë, stop hovering over my shoulder and sit down, will you?”

Finarfin obeyed. Eonwe chuckled and moved to join Melian who was seated across Nerdanel at the other end of the table.

“You are lording over us,” Aralote piped up from Erestor’s lap.

“Children should be seen and not heard,” Finarfin said sternly, though his eyes sparkled in affection.

“I am not a child!” Aralote sounded well and truly offended.

“Aralote, behave,” came a woman’s strict injunction. Elladan and Elrohir turned as one to look at Celebrian.

“I am sorry that I was not there to greet you,” she said quietly. Elrond sympathised. There was a history of loss and abandonment between mother and sons. Once Elrond would have taken delight in seeing her uncertain and grieving. Not now.

“Naneth,” Elladan began.

“Lady Celebrian,” Elrohir cut in coldly.

“Bria, dear, come and sit by me, will you?” Erestor’s tone brooked no opposition. Erestor had always been her knight. Once upon a time, Elrond had hated her for that. But now he did not begrudge her the support.

“We are here because of the men and women who have died for us,” Nerdanel said sharply. “We will get along.”

Elrohir seemed to feel the steel underneath her calm and he nodded cautious assent.

“Well, Celebrian did not meet you at the harbour since she had been to fetch her father,” Nerdanel continued as if there had been no digressions. She turned to face the doorway and said, “Come in, dear.”

Carnilote entered the chamber, leading a terribly emaciated Celeborn to the table. Glorfindel rose to hold back an empty chair for him with his customary gallantry. Carnilote made to move away towards Nerdanel, but Celeborn’s wrist shot out and clutched her gown. Elrond looked away from the sheer panic on the sallow features of the once proud Prince of Doriath.

“I loved her hair, Lord Celeborn,” the Dwarf spoke up in the anguished silence. Celebrian and Thranduil glared at him.

“It had been gold once, they say,” Celeborn murmured, his eyes still distant and lost. His clutching fingers loosened their hold on Carnilote’s gown. “She rarely combed it.”

The Dwarf rose from his seat and walked slowly over to Celeborn’s seat. Then he grumbled something under his breath and took out a little pouch attached to his belt. With much caution and delicacy, he extracted a thick lock of golden hair. He sighed, grumbled some more and placed the lock on Celeborn’s open palm resting limp on the tabletop.

It shocked Celeborn into thought and coherence, for his eyes widened and he said softly, “I cannot-”

“Dwarves never part with their gold, Lord Celeborn. But this is not my gold. This gold belonged, belongs to you.”

Celeborn inhaled sharply and tried to speak though words eluded him. Then he sighed and said with quiet dignity, “I had nothing of her left. My gratitude, Gimli, son of Gloin. Now I see what she respected and admired in your race.”

“Lady Eowyn reminded me of her,” Gimli said.

“Yes, the Shield-Maiden of the Rohirrim,” Celeborn smiled wanly. “Headstrong, was she not?”

“Yes,” Elladan said quietly, his hand placed on Laiqua’s forearm. “She was an extraordinary woman, though Estel did not like her at all.”

Gimli did not reply, choosing to return to his seat between Laiqua and Elrohir. His eyes were shifting uneasily between Laiqua and Elladan. Laiqua, Elrond noted, seemed uncomfortable with the conversation. Elladan’s eyes held a strange, potent mixture of pain and acceptance.

“We used to buy coal from the Dwarves.” Elrond filled the awkward silence.

Everyone looked up at him. Gimli’s curiosity sparkled in those brown eyes. Elrond wished to thank him, sincerely. Elrond’s soft spot for Celeborn seemed to have brought about a soft spot for Gimli too now.

“It was hard in the winters, especially towards the end. So once my father was teaching me to make snowballs, and we returned later freezing. There was no coal. Lord Maedhros railed at us for quite some time before setting out to buy coal. Coal was precious then,” Elrond smiled wistfully. “We were not rich that winter. Usually, Lord Cirdan would give us coin and coal. It would suffice. That time, it did not. So Lord Maedhros went to the Dwarves and told them that he had two betrothal rings in lieu of coin. The Dwarf Lord asked him what they meant to him. Maedhros told him that they were the only crafts of his father that he still had. They had been made to celebrate his betrothal long ago and he had held onto them for years. The Dwarf Lord told him to take five wagon-worths of coal, to stuff the bloody rings into his pockets, and not to turn up at his doorstep again without coin. So he did that, and we stayed warm, and Cirdan sent more coal the next week. But without the Dwarf Lord’s grace, we might not have made it.”

“To Dwarves, noble and kind,” Erestor raised his fluted glass in toast.

“Hear, hear!” Thranduil joined cheerily.

Elrond looked at Gimli and nodded. The Dwarf grinned and asked, “So what happened to the rings? Sauron did not get them, I hope! He had an obsession with those things.”

“These rings are lost to us, Gimli,” Carnilote said. “But you can see other works of Feanor if you wish. Nerdanel and her father still have many in their safekeeping.”

Elrond thought that, perhaps, Carnilote might not be as inane as he considered her to be. Perhaps. Conversation picked up after that and Elrond smiled at the relief in Nerdanel’s eyes.

“Arwen returned to Lothlorien,” Elrohir was saying.

Elrond saw the sadness and regret in his son’s eyes and the quiet understanding touch of Lindir’s fingers on Elrohir’s forearm soothed Elrond’s parental concern.

“Alone?” Erestor frowned.

Elrohir exchanged a pensive glance with his brother before saying, “Not alone, Ada. There was an Elf, Daeron.”

“Daeron of Doriath?” Celeborn asked, breaking his silence voluntarily for the first time. “He is alive?”

“Yes, he was ill, but Estel cured him. Daeron went with her to Lothlorien,” Elrohir said.

After the dinner, Celebrian requested to speak privately with her sons and their lovers. Elrohir seemed reluctant, but Nerdanel’s stern gaze made him comply. Mithrandir, Thalion, Melian and Eonwe had moved to the parlour with their heated discussion on Alqualonde’s taxation rules. Aralote had been fascinated by Mithandir’s beard and followed him. Elrond knew she would fine as long as Mithrandir did not let her sample his pipeweed as had happened the last time she had been in his charge.

Elrond looked around at those who remained behind. Celeborn, Glorfindel, Nerdanel, Finarfin, Carnilote, Thranduil, Erestor and Elrond himself. And there was Gimli, looking quaintly out of place.

“So what happened to the rings?” Erestor asked him.

“Rings?”

“What happened to the rings?” Erestor asked amusedly. “You might not happen to have them, do you?”

“Why would I have them?” Elrond frowned.

“You do tend to hoard anything you get your hands on if it is related to your family,” Erestor remarked.

Erestor never considered it his family. Elrond did not blame him.

“I don’t have these rings. In fact, they were used in a marriage soon after this incident.” Elrond blamed Nerdanel for his newfound love of terms such as ‘marriage’ and ‘husband’.

“A marriage?” Erestor frowned. “Not Melorian’s, I hope? That would speak ill of the luck the rings brought.”

Melorian did not attend any dinner if Glorfindel was likely to attend them. Just as well, Elrond thought not unkindly, given how distant Glorfindel had been to her since their first meeting on this side of the ocean.

“Not Melorian’s,” Elrond assured Erestor. “It was not anyone you knew.”

He was not lying. Erestor had not known them at all.

“Did you meet Daeron, Lord Gimli?” Celeborn asked the Dwarf quietly.

“Yes, more than once,” Gimli said. “He was the good sort. Sang too much, but he was good at that unlike Eomer who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Arwen?” Celeborn queried. “Leaving her behind was one of the most painful experiences I had.”

Celeborn had truly cared for Arwen, Elrond knew, despite the fact that Arwen had been the daughter of Celebrimbor

“She loved him,” Gimli replied promptly. “They sang and danced their days away in Lothlorien. I think she was very happy.”

“Thank you,” Celeborn said. “I am glad to hear that. Very glad.”

An awkward silence fell again. Gimli returned to staring at the decor of the room.

“Did you know Daeron?” Elrond asked Celeborn, hoping that this subject had no associations to memories rather left untouched.

“Melian knew him better, I daresay,” Celeborn said quietly. “He was music.”

“I have heard him sing. Mereth Aderthad,” Glorfindel joined the conversation. “He was a mighty singer, true. Not to sound biased, but I think Prince Maglor was a better singer. I know nothing of music. Daeron’s song was magnificent. But Maglor’s was beyond anything.”

“You are not wrong,” Celeborn said thoughtfully, twirling his fluted wine glass. “Having had the privilege to hear them both sing, I would say that music mastered Daeron. Maglor mastered music.”

“Father was not dedicated to music, though,” Elrond remarked. “He sang when Elros or I asked him to. He occasionally tormented the harp with random plucking. Perhaps it was not so in his youth.”

“It was the same,” Finarfin stated. “He was not taught music. That was for the best, given his appalling performances in what he was taught. He sang when Maitimo or Artanis asked him to. He never could deny them much.”

“Music was in their blood, I suppose. I have heard Finrod sing,” Celeborn said. “He was an excellent singer, much to Thingol’s dismay. Then again, Thingol was always unsettled when it came to Finrod.”

“Why?” Thranduil asked curiously.

“You see, he had discovered in a very short span of time that he was attracted to men and in mad love with Finrod,” Celeborn chuckled as he sipped his wine. “Your father and I were hard put not to laugh when we saw Thingol staring at Finrod every time he saw the Noldo. Finrod had a difficult time of it, convincing the King that wanting a man was not a sin.”

“What?” Elrond asked, perplexed. “But Morgoth and Tulkas had been of that persuasion, hadn’t they?”

Nerdanel choked on her food and let Finarfin pat her back before saying faintly, “Wherever did you get such lore from?”

“Well, Elros always said that Sauron and Morgoth were lovers. And there are speculations that Tulkas and Aegnor were lovers too.”

“Don’t slander my son, Elrond!” Finarfin said as he fought back what seemed to be incredulous laughter. “I can assure that the only unrepentant lover of men in our family had been Nolofinwë. Fingolfin, that is.”

“Well, Sauron and Morgoth were,” Elrond muttered.

A snarl escaped Glorfindel and Elrond’s eyes widened as he saw the blood spreading on the tablecloth. Celeborn had turned white at the sight of blood. Carnilote rose swiftly and made her way to Glorfindel.

“Let me see your hand. The glass breaks so easily, does it not? I keep telling Mother that she should invest in proper goblets,” she was saying softly as she reached for his bloodied hand.

Glorfindel shook his head and rose, toppling his chair. He did not seem to care as he rushed out of the chamber, his chest heaving and eyes stricken. Erestor sighed before putting down his cutlery and following Glorfindel at a more sedate pace.

“What happened?” Carnilote wondered.

“Frankly, I am surprised that something did not happen earlier,” Nerdanel said briskly. “It is usual for us, is it not?”

“Not when your charming Thranduil is there to sooth ruffled feathers,” Thranduil said smoothly. Laughter broke out, Gimli chortled, and even Celeborn shook his head in fond exasperation.

“To answer your question, Elrond,” Finarfin said quietly, “it was a crime in Orome’s eyes. There were many who were of the persuasion, but they kept it secret. It would have brought Orome’s wrath upon them if discovered. Nolofinwë’s was an open secret though,” Finarfin chuckled. “He required aid to sire children.”

Elrond could not help a smile. Finarfin, while normally reticent, could be counted on to regale them with excellent tales when he could be coaxed into the mood.

“So we were breaking Orome’s law all along, then?” Thranduil queried.

“The law was voided,” Glorfindel’s hoarse voice answered from where he stood in the doorway, with his fingers bandaged neatly.

Erestor hobbled in behind him, his face marred by pain. He must have tried to move at a faster pace to find Glorfindel. Elrond rose to assist him.

“Yes,” Finarfin took up the tale to spare Glorfindel the curious eyes. “Nolofinwë’s inclinations reached Orome’s ears. It put us all in an untenable position. Maitimo wheedled his father to make a butterfly net and he spent days, no weeks, trying to catch dragonflies. It was strange to see him running after dragonflies. I don’t believe he had found the time for it even when he had been a child.”

“Dragonflies?” Thranduil asked. “What purpose could dragonflies serve?”

“Perhaps he had been as insane as my history master said he was,” Erestor suggested.

“Male dragonflies mate with their own,” Gimli broke in. He immediately looked repentant.

“My son has inherited my taste in friends. Brilliant friends,” Thranduil preened.

Gimli looked suspicious but then grinned when Erestor winked at him. Erestor, Elrond thought, had an uncanny knack for dealing with Dwarves.

Glorfindel nodded tersely and said, “Gimli is right. It was proof enough for the Valar.”

“Nienna once said that Feanaro reminded her of dragonflies. Active, buzzing and restless,” Mithrandir remarked.

“Jay birds. I thought he was an urchin from the market when I first saw him on my father’s doorstep,” Nerdanel said with a wistful smile. “Unkempt and underweight, but blessed with inexhaustible stores of energy.”

Elrond could understand that very well. In fact, Thranduil and Erestor often reminded him of them. Butterflies, dragonflies, jays.

“So there was an open court of sorts.” Finarfin continued as if there had been no interruption. “Manwe had to void the law on basis of evidence provided. It was not considered a crime after that.”

“Many souls must have been at peace by that,” Elrond remarked.

“No, Elrond,” Celeborn said pensively, “It was different. The situation was such that we did not have the time or maturity to sit down and think and sort our inclinations. Perhaps the only person who remained strictly on one side of the fence was Oropher.”

“It was more about what was at hand?” Erestor asked. “That makes sense, what with the constant state of warfare which haunted those times.”

“Yes, we had no time to fool around and go on quests for that one true mate,” Glorfindel said seriously. “Some were lucky enough to find love. For the rest, sex was a respite from the grim truths of daily life.”

Elrond finally understood why Celeborn had often reverted to seeking other partners in pleasure whenever he had had fallen out with Galadriel. And why Glorfindel had let Melorian hope. The world they grew up in had instilled desperation in their character. Hadn’t Elrond done the same in Mordor? War brought men to the level of beasts.

“My mother died on the Ice giving birth to me,” Carnilote said softly. “It broke my father. He hated the sight of me because it reminded him of her. He was driven to drink on most days. Then later came the desperate interludes in the dark with his fellow-warriors or with widows. He was caught in such a terrible cycle of self-recrimination and anguish that I felt more relief than grief when he died in battle.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Thranduil said sincerely. “You deserved better.”

Oropher had done right by his son. Perhaps, Elrond mused silently, Oropher was the only father who had done that in those turbulent times.

“It was not all darkness and grief,” Carnilote said with a wan smile. “Before my wedding, Father came to me, mortified, and told me that he had had an interlude with Fingon once during a scouting expedition. We feared it might put me in an uncomfortable position. Father summoned courage enough to confess this to the High-King and Lord Maedhros. They assured him that Fingon rarely paid attention to his partners. They were right, to our relief.”

“They could not have chosen better for my son,” Nerdanel said bluntly. Carnilote smiled and murmured her gratitude.

“I wish they had shown similar aptitude in choosing for themselves,” Finarfin remarked. “Nolofinwë’s wife still launches a diatribe whenever his name is mentioned in conversation. Maitimo was to have married a woman older than Nerdanel.”

“Lord Maedhros did not care for women,” Elrond remarked.

“Let us not speak of his inclinations!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “He was addled in the head. No offence, Nerdanel.”

“None taken. We have been through so much together that taking offence and keeping secrets from each other is foolish,” Nerdanel said, her eyes glittering in amusement. “My son’s marriage was brokered since it seemed he had little interest in finding a spouse. Feanaro despaired so. Nolofinwë recommended aphrodisiacs. Artanis said, unkindly, that Findekano’s attentions had turned Maitimo cold to the very idea. However, Salgant, one of those who woke by the lake, once said that Miriel Serinde had been averse to such activities. ”

 

 

_Elrond was not meant to be there. He had been dared by Elros to steal an inkpot from Maglor’s study. Being a matter of prestige and ego, Elrond had sneaked into the chamber. He heard footsteps in the corridor as he reached out to grab the inkpot. With a soft curse, he had hidden under the large desk. The door had slid open and Elrond heard two pairs of boots._

_“I would not ask you for aid if I had more palatable options at hand.”_

_It was Lord Maedhros. Before Elrond could wonder about the edge of desperation in his guardian’s voice, swift came a scathing reply, “You cannot hide it from him forever.”_

_Galadriel. Elrond hated the woman. He scowled. Perhaps she would leave soon this time?_

_“I am not going to live forever, Artanis,” came the amused reply from her cousin._

_“We shall not speak of the future,” Galadriel muttered. Elrond knew instinctively that she must be glaring at Maedhros. “As for aid with the matter at hand, Thalion has sent the usual with me. He said you might have need of it.”_

_“Foresighted indeed!” Maedhros laughed. Not that warm ripple of raw silk which escaped him when Elrond or Elros did some mischief. No, this laugh was soft and refined and Elrond did not like it at all._

_“When I look at the mirror, I see my eyes burning away into nothingness. I press my palm over them and when I dare to look at the mirror again, I see grey.” Her voice was broken and sad. Then she asked, “What if I don’t want to be you, Russandol? What if all I want to be is my husband’s woman; my child’s mother?”_

_“Will you burn for them, Artanis?”_

_“Until ashes are all that are left, and you know it.”_

_“Yes, yes, I do.” Maedhros had rarely sounded so pained._

_“You will do nothing to spare me,” Galadriel murmured. “You will save only your knight.”_

Elrond pushed his memories to the back of his mind. He had been good enough a healer to take note of the various concoctions Maedhros kept around in his chambers. There had been a strong aphrodisiac draught among those.

“Most of the warriors then were touch-deprived and quickly responded to overtures,” Carnilote said. “Lord Maedhros was different. But he was also an aesthete and it made people spin the strangest rumours about his preferences.”

“Even we thought of it,” Gimli added his bit to the conversation. “In earlier times, when Dwarves had traffic with your kind, the important negotiations were usually handled by Lord Maedhros since Lord Caranthir had a fiery temper. Now, your Lord Maedhros, he was a man who liked to touch craft. When I was younger, my father would say: Gimli, my lad, this shield was one that the White Prince himself touched.”

“Ah, yes, they called him that,” Celeborn murmured. “Modified from the actual word in the orc-tongue. He was called the White Devil by the enemy’s minions. Even in Doriath, there were speculations as to his inclinations. What can I say? We were all sexually constipated and he was one of the most popular subjects of discussion.”

“Gossip,” Finarfin said understandingly. “It was Nolofinwë’s lot here. They always speculated on what went on in his chambers. He was the only unrepentant person who had more or less openly made his preferences known.”

“Yes,” Celeborn nodded. “It was a similar situation. We had been under the shadow of Thangorodrim for a long time. We had lost many to it. Those who escaped were mad or made silent by fear of losing the community’s respect. Maedhros was the only one who spoke of what had happened there. His lack of reticence made him the target of speculation in matters ranging from his sanity to his preferences. Of course, matters were not helped by the tales carried to us by those who had attended Mereth Adareth who claimed they had heard sounds from Fingon’s tent.”

“I don’t want to hear a word more,” Glorfindel cut in.

Elrond grinned. The sexuality of Maedhros had been a hotly debated topic through the Ages. Mithrandir had written a pamphlet on the subject delving deep into psychology and circumstances. Then again, Mithrandir wrote about pipe-weed also.

“It was not that awful,” Carnilote said with a mischievous smile. “Certainly much better than what Thranduil tells me of your exploits with an Edain warrior.”

Glorfindel turned crimson and mumbled something about the conversation turning into extremely inappropriate directions. He also spared a smirking Thranduil a glare that promised swift retribution.

 

Later, as they were about to retire, Nerdanel caught Elrond’s eye. He nodded and remained, asking Erestor and Thranduil to go ahead.

“Twins,” she said quietly. Elrond nodded, knowing well that she was thinking of the twins she had given birth to.

“It is good to see that their lives have been kinder,” she said after a long silence.

“They lived through war,” Elrond said tersely. “If the Ring had been destroyed the first time, if Celebrian had not left, if Galadriel had been more compassionate, if I had been honest enough-”

“Yes, yes, all those are trivialities!” Nerdanel said impatiently. “Everyone born in that time went through those. They were born to royals, to warriors. Of course they would see war and shed blood. I speak of something else, Elrond. Their hearts have led them to kinder places. Lindir I know from old. He is the soul of loyalty. Thranduil’s son too.”

“True,” Elrond admitted. “Their lives have been less scarred by their hearts’ dictates. As a father, I wish that there was no scarring at all.”

Elrond had been standing with Erestor as he watched Eowyn singing a lament for the fallen Theoden. Erestor’s sharp intake of breath made Elrond glance in the direction his friend had been looking. Laiqua was standing between Estel and Gimli, his eyes soft and wistful as he gazed upon the Shield Maiden of Rohan.

Elrond wanted to strike him. How dared he look at another in this manner when Elladan had given soul and body to him on a silver platter?

“No, Elrond,” Erestor said, his voice washed in profound sadness. “We cannot unmake their mistakes.”

 

As if reading his thoughts, Nerdanel said, “Come, Elrond, even in this age of golden peace, do you suppose we can protect Aralote’s heart? It matters not whether we be at peace or war. Love ravages its destruction and offers salvation on its own time.”

“When did you become so wise?” he teased her.

She snorted, but did not speak again. He could sense that her thoughts were far away.

“I hope that talk of the past did not unsettle you earlier?” he probed. “Glorfindel seemed uncomfortable with the conversation.”

“You like to talk of the past, don’t you?” she queried.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I have not yet accepted that it is over.”

“It is,” she said firmly. “Erestor needs you to live in the now.”

He did not reply. How could he tell her that his life had straddled the past and the present to such a degree that to give up either would leave him with nothing?

“Macalaurë was my favourite, Elrond,” Nerdanel said. “Yet I was relieved to hear tidings of his death. He had been through so much, they all had been through so much; we should let them go, you should let them go. It is not fair to their memory that you would cling to the past while they gave you a new world to build your life in.”

“I am glad my sons were treated better by their hearts,” Elrond confessed. “I had feared, Nerdanel. I had truly feared.”

“Incest is not a heritage,” Nerdanel said sharply.

 

 

_Elrond shuffled his feet in unease as the time of parting came. Ada and Elros were quietly speaking as they stood by the door._

_“Come here, Elrond,” Maedhros crooked his index finger, lending the gesture such unconscious grace and Elrond was reminded of the many thousand times he had admired this sensuality. He etched this last time into his mind. He would not see it again._

_“You have our legacy,” Maedhros said quietly. “But only if you want it.”_

_“My lord?” Elrond frowned. He was still incapable of deciphering Maedhros after all these years._

_“Your legacy, Elrond.” Maedhros looked at him sharply, willing him to understand. “Take only what you need and leave the rest behind.”_

_Elrond did not think it made sense. How could one take parts of a legacy and leave the rest behind? The very name of the house of Finwë invoked a legacy in full, did it not?_

_“You are thinking like the rest of the world.” Maedhros waved his hand in a loose arc. “I taught you better.”_

_“Then why didn’t you do the same with your father’s legacy?” Elrond asked, scowling. He usually let Elros ask the difficult questions. But it was the last time and he felt courageous - no, reckless._

_“I have taken only what I needed,” Maedhros said. “You have not seen me labouring with anvils and hammers, have you?”_

He had not believed Maedhros then. He did not believe Nerdanel now.

“I suppose not,” he murmured. “Yet I feared. Erestor was my father’s son. Is it not incest in a way? Then there were rumours of Fingolfin and Feanor. And of-”

“Of my sons,” Nerdanel finished for him. “You feared that each generation would have two to bear that taint.”

“I had every reason to fear,” Elrond said quietly. “I was very stern whenever I saw them in situations which might lead to more proximity. From me they had nothing to fear, but the rest of the world... Celeborn would have torn them to bits. His opinion on the matter of incest is not one you would wish to hear, I assure you. It was my recurring nightmare for years. I was so relieved when Laiqua and Elladan embarked on their relationship. Celebrian’s departure had caused me to fear more. What if it proved an impetus? I hated Celebrian then, for this and for other reasons. Now that my fears are at rest, I can forgive her.”

“I know. I had feared for my sons,” Nerdanel admitted. “Macalaurë’s regard was not masked. Everyone saw it. Whatever Maitimo might have felt, he cloaked it well enough that not one of us could read his heart. His ignorance, deliberate or otherwise, was all that stood between my sons and condemnation.”

 

 

_“The Edain men number over two thousand. Their leader has agreed to fight under Elros in the coming war.”_

_“What are his conditions?”_

_“Sovereignty, grain, weapons, the usual. His wife wishes to hear Lord Maglor sing. They have invited us to a feast.”_

_“My brother will not sing for his supper.”_

_“They were insistent on his attendance, I am afraid,” Cirdan said apologetically. “Just one song and he could leave.”_

_“I will not have him whoring his music,” Maedhros said crisply. “We will take Elros with us. Between your wisdom, Elros’ charming ways and my presence, I am sure we can win them over.”_

_“Your presence?”_

_“Yes, the presence of Maedhros Feanorion himself,” Maedhros laughed. “Men and Gods have an unhealthy, prurient interest in me.”_

_“Treat yourself more kindly,” Cirdan said disapprovingly. “You are made of more than rumours and shame. Try not to forget that.”_

_“As long as you remind me.”_

_“I would rest easier if you were to tell me what you intend to do about the War.”_

_“I intend to wait it out.”_

_“What?” Cirdan asked, shocked. “Then the oath?”_

_“Try not to worry. I will manage.”_

_“You are not leaving this chamber without giving me a clearer answer, Maedhros. Not even if I have to call in your brother’s aid to demand answers of you.”_

_“You are terribly manipulative. I suppose I should blame your acquaintance with me.”_

_“What do you intend to do?”_

_“What Miriel did, though in a less sacrificing manner.”_

_Cirdan’s voice was weary and wretched when he said, “You are going to die.”_

_“A bargain, if you will. A secret I take to my grave if Varda promises to undo her bindings on the jewels. Her magic has reined in the pure power of my father’s soul. I need it unleashed.”_

_“And?”_

_“You know me unforgivably well.”_

_“You will make her swear an oath to keep Maglor safe,” Cirdan completed his sentence wryly. “You are predictable, to those who know you.”_

“He did whatever was necessary to protect Ada, always,” Elrond told Nerdanel. “But it was not so with Fingolfin or Feanor. They wore their feelings proudly and look where it ended. Erestor and I had to face scorn and censure when we were found out. I did not want anything of the sort to happen to my sons.”

“Finarfin wishes Erestor to take the reins,” Nerdanel said slowly. “He considers Celebrian and Aralote more important than ruling at this juncture.”

“Has he intimated this to Erestor?” Elrond asked.

He had been expecting this for a while now. Finarfin had no interest in administration. Erestor had been harrying construction workers, carpenters, advisors and the King himself with unsolicited queries, instructions and advice.

“Not yet.”

“Both Thranduil and Erestor take naturally to governance,” Elrond said thoughtfully.

“It will consume his time,” Nerdanel remarked. “That would considerably bring down his daredevil exploits.”

Elrond was looking forward to that. If it happened, he owed Finarfin.

 

“Elrond, are you asleep?”

“Not yet,” Elrond mumbled. “What is it?”

“Finarfin spoke to me today.” Erestor fell silent, probably couching the next few sentences in the most inoffensive manner.

“It is all right. Nerdanel told me,” Elrond said. “What did you tell him?”

“That I would ask you,” Erestor replied promptly.

Elrond’s hand paused making circles on his friend’s back. “It is your decision which counts,” he said sharply.

“Nerdanel calls us married,” Erestor murmured. “I am thinking it would be appropriate to take joint decisions in the future, if you have no objection to that idea. Isn’t that what spouses do?”

Elrond did not reply. He did not know if he could trust himself to let Erestor fly if he had a say in the matter.

“If I agree to Finarfin’s idea, it will mean that I shall see less of Thranduil,” Erestor was saying. “Ingwe has been insisting that Thranduil return to Valmar. Perhaps it is for the best. It would decrease our dependence on each other. Besides, Thranduil and I need something to occupy our time. It will mean that you can worry less since we will be too busy to make trouble.”

“Is it what you want?” Elrond asked cautiously. “You must have had enough of administration by now, I thought. It took up most of your life. In Lindon, and later in Imladris.”

“I like it,” Erestor shrugged, the gesture bringing his left shoulder to nudge against Elrond’s chin.

“Then it is settled,” Elrond said, tamping down a sigh of relief. “It will reduce my worrying.”

Perhaps they could get used to making joint decisions, Elrond reflected, as he stroked his companion’s wrist long after Erestor had fallen asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ada?”

“Come in. I was just starting my breakfast.”

As Elladan and Elrohir pulled chairs and settled with a minimum of fuss, Elrond could not help wondering how sons were so different from fathers. 

Erestor had woken him up at dawn by thrusting his hips against Elrond’s thighs. A languorous interlude of frottage had resulted. Elrond did not have the heart or the self-control to stop Erestor. As long as they were slow and careful, Elrond told himself, it would be all right. Fortunately, Erestor had not had a seizure. He had then leapt off the bed and rushed into the bath and kept chattering all the while. Elrond had sleepily nodded and murmured platitudes as Erestor had dressed, combed and ducked under the cot to retrieve his boots while describing the state of government. Finally, when Erestor was about to leave, Elrond had been kissed thoroughly and allowed to go back to sleep; which he readily did. He did so enjoy his morning lie-ins these days. 

“Have you decided where to settle, then?” Elrond enquired as he pushed the plate of potato scones towards his visitors. 

Elladan fidgeted with his teacup, blew the surface of the excellent elderberry tea that Elrond so favoured, wrinkled his nose and said nothing. Elrohir sipped the tea, cleared his throat and set his cup back on the table. 

Elrond raised his eyebrows.

“Naneth likes it in the cottage,” Elladan murmured. “She is very happy there.”

“Yes,” Elrond agreed. “She caught that habit from Horeon, Aralote’s father, while they were traipsing all over Valinor. You will like him, I promise.”

“She does seem to have developed certain quirks,” Elrohir said dubiously. “Did you know that she keeps a cookie jar in the window?”

“Ah, that is for Erestor and Thranduil. She probably tired of them sneaking into her kitchen,” Elrond replied. 

“She does not seem the sort to cook,” Elrohir said. 

Celebrian had changed. She often travelled with Horeon into the countryside on a wagon drawn by mules. She made cookies, she danced at bonfires, she participated in crushing grapes in the local winery, she dragged Finarfin to picnics by the seaside and committed various other unladylike acts on a daily basis. Thranduil opined that it was delayed adolescent rebellion against authority. Elrond supposed Thranduil might know all about it, given how sorely he had tried everyone during his own adolescence.

“Was anyone angry with her about Horeon?” Elladan asked hesitantly. “Is that way she is staying alone with the child?”

“What?” Elrond blinked. “Oh, no, it is nothing of the sort! She says she is discovering herself, whatever that means.”

“It is odd,” Elrohir muttered. “She is all right, then?”

“Yes, yes, she is a trifle eccentric at times, but she is quite all right,” Elrond reassured them. 

“Ada, Laiqua likes the cottage. So do I. We were used to living in rusticity in Ithilien.” Elladan drew a deep breath. “We are thinking of moving into a cottage near Naneth’s, by the lake. It would suit Gimli too.”

Elrond blinked. He had not expected this. Seeing Elladan fidgeting uneasily, he said reassuringly, “If that is what you wish, then I see no reason why you should not do it. Your mother can help you, if you would like her to.”

“Thank you!” Elladan beamed. 

Elrond smiled, but he really hoped that Erestor would react at least half as favourably as he did. For all his daredevil nature as regards his own self, Erestor could be immovably protective and unreasonable where it concerned others. Besides, both Erestor and Thranduil liked their little luxuries and would not understand the appeal of a rustic cottage.

“Elrohir?” Elrond probed. “Have you decided on where to reside?”

“Not yet,” Elrohir said pensively. “Lindir is not comfortable in large groups. I doubt city life would suit him. He said he had no preferences, but I do think he might cope better if away from the city.”

“Perhaps you could try this cottage idea and see if it is suitable?” Elrond suggested. “If it is not to your taste, there is Nerdanel’s country-house on the outskirts of Valmar too. I could have it readied in a few days.”

Elrohir nodded in quiet agreement. Elrond reached across and patted his son’s wrist before saying wryly, “It is best that you approached me first. I can at least prepare to run interference with Erestor.”

“Is he taking ill?” Elrohir asked, his eyes reflecting his worry. “Thalion said nothing when we asked him.”

“Thalion has kept his patients’ secrets all his life,” Elrond reminded Elrohir. 

“What is wrong with Ada Erestor?” Elladan asked, impatience and brittle fear colouring his voice.

Elrond took a deep breath before saying in his most detached voice, “All we have is speculation. He was pulling Bria to safety when he lost footing. His leg was what Melian and Thalion concentrated on, since that was the most grievous injury. Now we suspect that a head injury passed unhealed. We are not sure. It causes seizures when Erestor exerts himself beyond a certain level. It is not a pretty sight, I warn you. But we have been handling it relatively well so far.”

“It cannot be healed?” Elrohir queried shakily.

“No, but we hope it will fade with time.”

“Why is he out and about then?” Elladan demanded anxiously. “He must rest!”

Elrond poured himself more tea to busy his fingers. Elrohir said quietly, “You will not ask him to do it, will you, Ada? Not even if you have no other choice.” 

“Would you seal butterflies in a bell-jar?” Elrond asked. 

“You let Laiqua go on the quest even though Ada Erestor disagreed. It was always so,” Elrohir remarked. “Ada Erestor taught us how to live, but you taught us live on our own terms.”

“Yes, and you now look like a beached trout,” Elladan winked. “Come, Elrohir, let us not interrupt his breakfast anymore.”

Elrond’s cup nearly slipped from his fingers before he recovered his poise. He gently set it on the table before leaning back in his chair and looking out the window as he watched the twins meander down the garden path. 

“You look self-fulfilled,” Glorfindel remarked as he joined Elrond and grabbed a scone. 

Elrond smiled, spared the retreating figures of his sons a last glance, shook his head and returned to his lazy breakfast.

 

With Erestor and Thranduil out of his hair, Elrond often found himself at loose ends in the afternoons. He occasionally walked to Celebrian’s cottage, and would watch in comfortable silence as Celebrian cooked or gardened or taught Aralote to read and write. If Finarfin was there, they would walk back together to Elrond’s mansion in the evening. Some days, Elrond popped in to see how his sons were doing and often got drawn into lengthy conversations with Gimli. He limited his visits since he saw that Elladan and Elrohir had settled in comfortably and he did not wish to interrupt their routines.

If his feet took him into the city, he ended up visiting Nerdanel. On rare occasions when he was hard pressed for company, he would even cajole Glorfindel into playing darts. Glorfindel tried to interest him in sparring, but Elrond had no wish to touch a weapon again. 

That sunny afternoon, he was walking towards Nerdanel’s forge when he saw her hastening towards him.

“What is it?” he asked in concern.

“We must go to the palace,” Nerdanel said in a tone that brooked no disagreement. “Carnilote took it into her pretty head to meet her son over lunch in order to cultivate a better relationship.”

Elrond did not say another word, but offered her his arm and together they walked towards the great palace which was now the centre of administration. Carnilote did not realise how deeply Erestor’s feelings of betrayal ran. So far, Nerdanel and Elrond had ensured that Carnilote and Erestor were interrupted before they entered serious conversation. While Elrond believed that Carnilote deserved no mercy, he would rather that Erestor did not go through another seizure.

“Ah, you are here!” Horeon made his way to them. “You had best go to Erestor’s chamber immediately. His mother is here and I am afraid they are arguing behind the closed door.”

“Thank you, Horeon,” Nerdanel smiled wanly. “Let us hope we are not too late.”

Elrond believed that it must be too late. Since when had fate dealt Erestor a fair hand? 

True enough, Erestor’s cold voice rang clear in the corridor despite the closed door, “Lady Galadriel was the most devoted person to the family cause. Yet she did not abandon her newborn child.”

“The circumstances-” Carnilote began, only to be cut off by Erestor’s snarl of, “No. Oropher raised Thranduil despite circumstances. Elrond raised the twins despite circumstances. Nothing you say can convince me.”

Elrond brought his knuckles to knock, but Nerdanel caught his wrist and shook her head. He frowned, but decided to obey her whim. She did not have a history of making regrettable decisions, after all.

“Think of Elrond,” Carnilote asked.

“What purpose does that serve in this context?” Erestor queried scathingly. Elrond winced. He knew well how cold and ruthless his friend could be if truly provoked.

“He took in the twins because of the love he bore you, did he not?” Carnilote’s voice was calm and gentle. “He has done more for them than Celebrian or you have, has he not? It is to him that they turn first for advice.” 

“Are you implying that your lack of parental skills was passed on to me?” Erestor demanded.

Elrond wished that Carnilote would end the conversation. As much as he hated her on principle, as much as she deserved the tirade, Elrond did not want her to be on the receiving end of her son’s cutting tongue. 

“You misunderstand,” Carnilote was saying now. “It is not about me. Tell me, if Elrond proposed an idea in the interests of your sons’ welfare, would you go along with it, however far-fetched it might be?”

“I trust Elrond,” Erestor said simply. “In everything.”

“And I trusted Lord Maedhros, in everything,” Carnilote stated, and Elrond stared at Nerdanel’s stricken composure as those words hung heavy in the air.

“You were a fool, then,” Erestor remarked coolly. “Elrond is worthy of trust. Maedhros was not.”

“Do you think that the Valar would have let you, grandson of Feanor, survive had I brought you across the sea? Who was there to aid us? Finarfin? He was drowning in grief and loss. Nerdanel? She had no influence. Melian? She was a shell of what she once had been.” Carnilote paused. “No, you would not have survived. Celebrian’s child did not.”

Erestor did not reply. Elrond remained where he was. Nerdanel had moved away to stare out the nearest window.

Perhaps, Elrond thought, Celebrian’s new outlook on life was one born of loss. She had had no one to turn to after losing her child. The trauma must have strengthened her and made the woman she now was. Strong in the broken places.

Carnilote continued softly, “I could not count on your father to succour you, not with the oath he was under. Galadriel would have taken in Maglor’s son, but Celeborn would have opposed it. I liked Gil-Galad, and we were on excellent terms, but you were Maglor’s son and there was bad blood between Maglor and Fingon. Gildor was nomadic and I did not know him well enough. Celebrimbor, as much as I loved him, would not have proved a good guardian. Lord Maedhros knew all this and it is certainly why he suggested I leave you in Cirdan’s care. Cirdan was his friend. Cirdan was also my friend. We needed you to have a constant in the broken world you would be growing up in. Cirdan was the only choice.”

“Maglor chose to succour Elrond and his brother despite the oath,” Erestor said bitterly. “Elrond extols his father’s parenting skills.”

“He might have made a good father to Melorian had I not asked him to stay away,” Carnilote said. “Perhaps he sought to forget that hurt by raising the twins. His brother had Cirdan’s ear, men were loyal to them and there was no war. But you were born in the aftermath of the War of Wrath. His brother was dead. There was no army. No refuge. He was hardly in any condition to raise you all by himself. Better that Cirdan raised you for the sake of a dear friend’s memory instead of harbouring both your father and you. It would have chafed the mariner’s generosity. It would have bruised your father’s pride. As events panned out, you grew up as Cirdan’s beloved foster-son, you cultivated a friendship with Thranduil, you met Elrond and Gil-Galad in Lindon and you carved your life out of your own skills and doings instead of being tainted by your family legacy.”

“I am not sure that-” Erestor’s words petered out leaving behind a sad silence. 

“Elrond lives in the past even now. He sees the dead in the eyes of the living. Every word, every gesture, every situation reminds him of past. Just as it reminds me. Just as it reminds Glorfindel, Celeborn, Melian, Nerdanel and almost everyone who survived. You are different. Lord Maedhros told me that he had nothing to bestow upon his brother’s heir. The only one he could give, he said, was the gift of a new beginning. He gave you that by cutting you free from the past. That was his gift to you, Erestor, and I thank him for it every day I see you.”

The door slid open and Carnilote walked out. She frowned on seeing Elrond, but before she could say a word, Nerdanel came to her. Carnilote sighed and let Nerdanel lead her away. Elrond looked inside the chamber. Erestor was standing frozen, his eyes dull and regretful. 

“Don’t,” Elrond told him sharply. “Don’t regret anything, you idiot. You were free till this day. Don’t let a confession chain you to the dead.”

“Elrond?” Erestor asked uncertainly. Elrond cursed. Erestor was never uncertain. 

“I will be fine,” Erestor said finally. “I have to complete an inspection of the lumberyard. I will return home as soon as I can.”

“Very well, then,” Elrond murmured, before taking his leave. 

 

“Wait!” Horeon caught up with Elrond at the central fountain in the palace gardens. “I am going to visit Bria. We can walk together till your home.”

Elrond had once wondered what Celebrian had seen in Horeon. Now that he knew Horeon, he did understand why Celebrian esteemed him so. Horeon reminded him of Haldir, Celebrian’s dead friend. Haldir had been weighed down by family responsibilities, a hatred for all things Noldorin, and the burden of being a soldier in the era of watchful peace. Elrond imagined that if circumstances had been kinder to Haldir, he might have been like Horeon. 

“You see less of Aralote than we do,” Elrond remarked. “Do try to be more involved in her life, Horeon. It is a fulfilling experience: watching your child grow up.”

“I am needed in the city. Finarfin’s withdrawal has increased our duties,” Horeon said. “Also, I endeavour to respect Celebrian’s wish in this matter.”

“You have always given into her whims,” Elrond teased. 

“Yes, yes, of course. The poor woman did not make a single choice on her own until she came here,” Horeon said seriously. “It is the least we can do to respect her decisions now.”

Elrond suppressed the pang of guilt which arose every time someone referred to the marriage charade. He had forgiven Celebrian. She had forgiven him. That was all to it, Elrond reminded himself sternly.

 

Elrond retired to his little carpentry chamber after reaching home. Time spent in Nerdanel’s company had given him a finer appreciation for craftsmanship. He would never be a craftsman of calibre, given his utter lack of talent. But he found working in the medium of wood smoothing. Going along with his decision not to deny himself anything at all, he had converted a small chamber to a carpenter’s realm. He took Thranduil along when he went to the lumberyards to choose wood. Despite his aversion to craft, Thranduil did possess a knack for choosing the finest. 

Elrond was whittling a piece of wood when Erestor entered the chamber and made his way through the shavings, the piles of whittled wood and pieces still to be pared. 

“Careful,” he told his friend. “The floor is uneven.”

Erestor nodded and sat down on the floor, cautiously manoeuvring his wooden leg into the least painful arrangement. 

“The smell of raw wood gives you a headache,” Elrond reminded him.

“Yes, it does,” Erestor muttered. “Would you mind if we were to invite Lady Carnilote for a quiet lunch one day?”

“Why do you ask me?” Elrond queried, returning to his whittling. “Yes, by all means, invite her.”

“We, Elrond, we. If we are inviting her, we are inviting her together,” Erestor insisted. 

Oh, Elrond remembered, this was more of the joint decision understanding they had come to. Suppressing a happy grin, he said warmly, “Then we shall. Make sure to choose a day when she is not visiting Celeborn.”

“She visits Celeborn?” Erestor asked curiously. “I did not know.”

“Nerdanel,” Elrond explained in a single word. “She likes to keep an eye on everyone. I hear that Carnilote’s presence has done Celeborn a world of good.”

“He is less suicidal, you mean?” Erestor asked wryly. “Many say that his self-destructive tendencies are not becoming at all for one who led armies. Not that I blame him. He has every right to contemplate such a course.”

 

That night, as they supped, Elrond could not help noticing that Erestor looked healthier than he had done in a long time. Perhaps boring affairs of the state was the cure. Elrond let himself be carried away on the waves of sparkling conversation and wholeheartedly enjoyed their supper. Arousal lulled him into carelessness and he caught himself staring at the curve of Erestor’s throat and the thin wrists which escaped the confining sleeves each time Erestor waved his hands to drive home a point. 

When they retired, Elrond was surprised at the warm weight of Erestor’s body atop him. 

“We cannot do that,” Elrond warned, his voice made weak and raspy by desire. 

He could feel the press of Erestor’s erection against the small of his back. He did not feel the cold wooden leg. Erestor must have discarded it after settling on the bed. 

“Erestor?”

Erestor did not reply, instead choosing to press his lips on the nape of Elrond’s neck. A sly hand dug underneath Elrond’s body and wrapped itself about Elrond’s arousal. Elrond jerked and cursed as his hips involuntarily rubbed against the soft coverlet seeking friction and release. Erestor’s lips moved to the point where Elrond’s left ear met neck. Elrond could not help a squeak of surprise as sensation washed over him. His left ear had always been more sensitive than his right ear. Erestor had taken unfair advantage of that ever so often.

A protesting groan escaped him when Erestor’s fingers left his penis. Another groan fled his lips when Erestor’s hands came to tug up the light robe Elrond had worn to bed. The cloth was pushed to lie rumpled at his neck. The cool night air tickled the back of his thighs and the skin over his ribs. He knew he should protest, but reason and caution had fled him leaving only need behind. The need roared through his blood as Erestor’s fingers ran over his ribs and Erestor’s lips pressed warm kisses to the small of his back. Then Erestor’s naked body covered him again from neck to toe and he sighed in contentment. 

Strong arms tugged him until he was on his side, facing the wall. A pinch to his thigh made him shiver and he lifted his right leg in compliance. Oil-slicked fingers ran teasingly over his sac and he bit down on his lower lip to stifle a cry of need. He arched back into the body behind him. One deceptively slender arm came to hold his waist in an iron band of safety and he brought his palms to grip his lover’s hand. Fingers moved closer in concentric circles towards his perineum and he gasped in unfulfilled wretchedness. The arm curled about his waist squeezed him closer to his lover’s body, and an instant later, he was incoherent and writhing in desperation as two of those damnably clever fingers found his prostate. He pushed back to gain more of the overwhelming currents of pleasure coursing through his veins from the tips of his toes to his groin. His groans of want became mewls of urgency and he fell into the soft sea of completion. Fingers withdrew from his prostate and were replaced by what he truly desired. He threw his head back to savour the perfection of his lover filling him, holding him close, turning him into a panting, curling creature of ruinous need that whimpered and sobbed and begged for more as each careful thrust ran deeper and deeper until he was an instrument tuned to his lover’s pleasure. A soft groan escaped his companion, the arm tethering him to safety slackened and sticky wetness ran down Elrond’s thighs. 

“Elrond?” came the anxious query in a voice stretched hoarse by exertion and orgasm.

“We should this again,” Elrond murmured, as sleep washed over him.

A soft chuckle tickled his skin and it was followed by the warm whisper of lips against the nape of his neck. 

 

Elrond began his breakfast only to be interrupted by a lapful of Erestor who insisted on educating him on the many uses of marmalade. He resigned himself to the eventuality of asking Nerdanel to make yet another dining chair, for Erestor’s enthusiasm rang the death knell of Elrond’s chair. Thoughts of protesting evaporated into nothingness as Erestor laid him out on the dining table and ran a lazy tongue over Elrond’s erection in the manner of a true connoisseur. Elrond did not remember much after that. It was for the best, he supposed, given that two maids, a stable-hand and Glorfindel had come rushing in to see the reason behind the groans and the shouts only to find the lovers entwined in post-coital languor. 

“Dignity is overrated,” Elrond told himself. 

“Is it?” Erestor murmured as he licked his way down a salty stream of sweat that was pooling into Elrond’s navel. 

Elrond’s stomach growled, demanding sustenance. Erestor pressed a kiss to the growling stomach and manoeuvred himself into a sitting position on the table. Then he fetched the sorry plate of scones and fed Elrond. 

“You eat them everyday,” Erestor noted. 

“I like them,” Elrond said, smiling in contentment when the morning sunshine warmed his body. “I am not going to deny myself anything I like. I vowed that after the war.”

“Hypocrite,” Erestor muttered. “You have been denying me quite well, remember?”

“I gave in, did I not?” Elrond demanded lazily, bringing his toes to nudge Erestor’s limp penis in a very friendly manner. 

“I see,” Erestor said suspiciously, squirming rather fetchingly as he sought to evade Elrond’s toes. 

“Yes. Carnilote’s words yesterday made me think of our circumstances. What is the purpose in forbidding something we both love as long as we take precautions and refrain from the more outré positions and activities?”

“So my fantasy of taking you against a wall will not be permitted?” Erestor asked nonchalantly, though his erection betrayed his interest in the proceedings.

“No, I am afraid,” Elrond said apologetically. “However, I don’t see why we cannot do something in the stable stalls.”

“Hidden depths, Elrond?’

“You know my depths better than I do.” Elrond smirked as a blush crept in and perched itself on Erestor’s cheekbones

 

 

Laiqua and Elladan came to visit him one fine morning when he was breakfasting on his favourite dish of treacle scones. 

“Ada, do you ever eat anything other than scones?” Elladan asked suspiciously.

“Not unless I have to,” Elrond replied. “I like scones.”

“You eat them for breakfast?” Laiqua frowned. 

“Whenever the whim takes me,” Elrond answered easily. “Here, have one. Elladan, pour the tea, will you?”

“Ada, are you sure that it is wise to eat so many scones on an empty stomach?” Elladan asked.

“It cannot be healthy,” Laiqua agreed. 

“Did you come to speak of my eating habits?”

It was a mark of how desperately they needed his approval for whatever they wanted now that they dropped the matter of scones.

“What is it?” Elrond asked baldly. He suppressed a sigh when Laiqua and Elladan exchanged a wary glance. 

“Wewishtobondandwillyoutellfather?” they squeaked out at the same instant. 

“I beg your pardon?”

Laiqua took a deep breath and mumbled, “We wish to bond. Will you tell Erestor and Ada?”

“These are wonderful tidings indeed!” Elrond said happily. “Now drink your tea. Nettle-leaves. The flavour goes along well with treacle scones.”

“Ada?” Elladan began nervously, making no move to touch his teacup.

“Tell them,” Elrond said firmly. “They will be very pleased. You need not worry.”

“We told Naneth,” Elladan confessed. “And Elrohir, Lindir and Gimli.”

“Well, then, there is nothing to be done other than buckling up and telling Thranduil and Erestor. If they hear of it from someone else, you know it will do you no favour. Go on, go on.” 

Elladan and Laiqua thanked him and rushed out of the chamber. Elrond chuckled and returned to his scones.

 

“No, Aralote, you cannot have one more muffin. No, don’t pout, it will not work on me,” Celebrian said sternly. Aralote stopped pouting and went to join Finarfin who seemed to have developed a sudden taste for digging holes in the wet earth.

“He wants to start a gourd garden,” Celebrian told Elrond. “The holes are for planting the supporting rods for the creepers.”

Elrond did not reply. Celebrian did not engage him in small-talk or polite conversation whenever he visited. He found the easy blanket of silence a comfort. It was a pity that they did not have this camaraderie when they had been married. 

“I thought Lindir and Elrohir would be the first pair,” Elrond remarked after a while, putting away his book and accepting a plate of freshly baked scones from Celebrian. 

“They were bonded in Ithilien, Gimli said. Do you eat ever anything else? It cannot be good for you, so many of them every day,” she warned, passing the strawberry jam Aralote was so fond of.

“The first time Ada cooked for Elros and me, which was soon after the sack of Sirion, he made treacle scones,” he said as he licked the jam off his fingers. “It was the first good thing I had tasted. Elwing did not believe in indulging children. My nurses said that she refused to breastfeed us since she feared it might cause her breasts to sag.”

Celebrian’s eyes widened and she said softly, “Elladan insisted that the wedding feast offer a selection of scones.”

While both Erestor and Thranduil had wanted a large wedding feast in the palace gardens, Elladan and Laiqua had strongly opposed it. They wanted to hold the feast by the small lake that lay adjunct to their cottage. After much pressure from Elrond, Glorfindel, Celebrian and Nerdanel, a disgruntled Thranduil had assented. Erestor was yet to be convinced. Elrond had advised Elladan to speak with Erestor once more. 

“Come with me. Let us take a look at the preparations.”

Elrond nodded and offered Celebrian his hand. Finarfin and Aralote were still occupied with their digging. Celebrian cast them a fond look before taking Elrond’s hand. They walked towards the lake. Elladan and Laiqua were squabbling over the seating arrangements. Lindir was supervising the flower decorations. Elrohir was lying asleep at the foot of one of the many beech trees that surrounded the lake. Celebrian disengaged her arm from Elrond’s and made her way to Elrohir. Gimli was standing alone and throwing what looked like crumbs of bread into the placid water. Elrond walked over to join him.

“Feeding the fish?” he asked Gimli 

The Dwarf chuckled saying, “Such follies are in your blood, not mine.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Feeding the dead,” Gimli said. “It is a tradition we Dwarves have. Sometimes, what with war and death and whatnots, we often don’t make our peace with many people in our lives. Sharing our food, breaking bread, is our important tradition. So we toss the crumbs into the water and hope that breaking bread with the ghosts will set them at peace.”

“A quaint tradition,” Elrond said quietly. 

“I have lost many in war,” Gimli said as he tossed crumbs into the water. “I abandoned many when I came west with Laiqua. This helps me forgive myself for surviving and for leaving. You are a warrior. You will understand.” 

“I am not a warrior anymore, but I understand.” Impulse made him ask, “Can you spare some?”

Gimli looked at him curiously before depositing a handful of crumbs in Elrond’s outstretched palm. Elrond followed Gimli’s actions, throwing a crumb after another, whispering a name under his breath each time. Elros, Maglor, Maedhros, Gil-Galad, Oropher, Anoriel, Arwen, Estel, Celebrimbor, Gildor, Celebrian’s unborn child, Nienna, Haldir, Melpomaen and-

“I always keep the last one for Lady Galadriel,” Gimli said softly.

“I did the same,” Elrond admitted. 

The woman would not let him win even after her death. Elrond’s Bane, they could call her that instead of all those fancy titles and epithets they used in their paeans. He rubbed his palms to brush off the crumbs and turned away from the lake. 

 

 

“Eonwe!” Elrond greeted his visitor pleasantly. “Do come in! I had just started my breakfast. You will join me, of course?”

Eonwe looked at the milk scones as if he suspected them of being a part of a great conspiracy. Elrond sighed and poured his visitor a cup of cinnamon tea. Eonwe’s paranoia was four Ages late. But no, he had been the naive trumpeter when paranoia would have actually mattered. Water under the bridge, Elrond reminded himself. 

“You live differently from how we expected you would,” Eonwe remarked. 

Elrond bit into a scone, savoured the flavour of the quince marmalade, chewed placidly, and swallowed before asking, “How was I expected to live, then?”

“You were a warrior all your life,” Eonwe said. “We thought you might be restless in an era of peace. Look at Erestor and Thranduil. Or even Glorfindel.”

“Oh, I have my reasons to suspect that both Erestor and Thranduil were born before they were due. Nothing else would explain their restlessness. As for Glorfindel, I admit I am surprised that he finds the pace of life too slow. He has known peace before.”

Eonwe grabbed a scone. Elrond suppressed a smirk. He had been hosting enough breakfast conversations over scones to pinpoint evasion when he saw it. 

“What brings you here?” he asked. Beating about the bush was Erestor’s style of questioning. Elrond had no patience for that approach. Besides, Eonwe must be used to bluntness from Nerdanel.

“Your welfare,” Eonwe said hesitantly. “If you are bored or restless whiling your days away, you could come and work with Mithrandir in the libraries. Archiving, writing, reviewing the season’s pamphlets – there is plenty to do that a loremaster might take interest in.”

A part of Elrond was pleasantly warmed by Eonwe’s gesture. The rest of him said firmly, “No. I shall have to decline your generous offer. I am not going to do anything I don’t want to, not anymore. It pleases me to while away my time as I do.”

“Why?” Eonwe asked, bewildered. 

“Why not?” Elrond parried.

 

 

That night, in the stables, as Elrond carefully pried away hay from his sweat-slick body, Erestor interrupted their post-coital silence saying, “Eonwe says that you told him you are keen on becoming a wastrel.”

“Do you terribly mind if I became one?” Elrond asked as he retrieved a straw from a place where hay had no right to be. He wrinkled his nose and threw it away.

“I have always thought that you look the part of a wastrel when you strut about half-drunk and wriggle your hips just so.”

“I don’t wriggle!” Elrond pinched his partner and grinned when a curse greeted him.

“Only when you are half-drunk, Elrond.”

“What about the circumstances when I am fully drunk, then?” 

Elrond could feel the mischief in Erestor’s voice when the answer came promptly. “You faint.”

He decided to get back to the original subject. 

“In the spirit of our spousal agreement, what do you think of my wish to be a layabout the rest of my days?”

Erestor pressed a hand on Elrond’s chest to brace himself before kissing his lover thoroughly. Then he demanded in a breathless tone which made Elrond’s toes wiggle and curl, “Why would I oppose your decision to be a kept man?”

Elrond burst out laughing and decked his lover’s head gently before muttering, “Ulterior motives. You are filled to the brim with ulterior motives.”

“Why don’t you fill me with something else then?” Erestor challenged, with just the right amount of teasing sauciness in his voice. 

“Let me recover, and then I will enact unspeakable depravities on your body to subdue your unbecoming perkiness.”

“In the spirit of our spousal agreement,” Erestor murmured quietly, “would you mind if I were to adorn you in a suitable manner as befits our station?”

Elrond frowned. His extensive knowledge of all things Erestor drew a blank and he asked, not without a shade of petulance, “What adornment?”

His answer came in the form of something cool and strong sliding over the ring finger of his left hand. It rested snugly against the base of his finger and he brought it to his eyes. A small band of gold shone irrepressibly in the dark. 

“I see,” Elrond murmured, concentrating on the little circlet of gold and ignoring the bevy of emotions dancing a staccato on his heart. “Nerdanel?”

“Yes,” Erestor said, nervousness marring his usually confident tones.

“If I am to be a kept man, I insist on binding you to the same doom. Now, give me the other ring – I hope you had it made - and stretch out that scrawny finger of yours and let me tether you to your inconsolable fate.”

The ring was dropped onto Elrond’s open palm and it was followed by a trembling, slender finger. Elrond grabbed it by the knuckle and gently slid the ring home. The stables had been an excellent idea. Erestor would not see his tears in this darkness. Even if Erestor saw, Elrond did not care. 

Erestor kissed Elrond once again and then laughed; a clear sound that drove through Elrond’s being and made itself home inside the core of him. 

“It is not inconsolable, you know,” Erestor said quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

Celeborn was standing by the edge of the lake, separated from the ruckus of the feast preparations by the copse of beeches. Elrond wondered if he should interrupt the tranquil silence. He decided to remain where he was, behind Celeborn, to be at hand in case something happened. 

“Come, Elrond,” Celeborn said quietly. “I heard your footsteps.”

“How did you know it was me?” Elrond queried.

“The others are all by the cottages,” Celeborn said simply. 

Good, Elrond thought. Celeborn’s famed observation skills still remained as sharp as ever. 

“You need not worry that I will attempt drowning,” Celeborn said wryly. 

Elrond thought it prudent not to reply. 

“Your scones taste like freedom, don’t they?” Celeborn asked. 

Elrond startled and turned to face his companion, the unexpected question sending his mind into panic. Celeborn’s introspective gaze softened and he brought a thin hand to pat Elrond’s shoulder awkwardly.

“They were the first taste of freedom in my life,” Elrond admitted.

“You did not eat them in Lindon, or in Imladris,” Celeborn remarked. “You did not touch them during feasts.”

“I did not eat them after coming to join Gil,” Elrond confessed. “I started eating them again only after coming here. I find that I cannot stop now.”

“She wondered, you know,” Celeborn said softly. “Once she asked me what freedom might taste like.”

Elrond was about to speak when Celeborn said, “Go and join them. There is nothing for you here with the dead.” 

“You are not-” Elrond protested, taken aback by the sheer agony in Celeborn’s voice. 

“Join the living, Elrond.”

 

“Joint spousal agreement?” Laiqua was asking Nerdanel. “It sounds bizarre. Can’t we just call it a bonding? Or a marriage? I think bonding sounds better. We will have that, but thank you for your suggestion.”

“Have it your way then,” Nerdanel muttered. “Headstrong young men.”

Elrond chuckled at¬ her indignation and pulled her for a walk with him. 

“I see the rings made their way home,” Nerdanel said quietly as she lifted his left hand and inspected the adornment. 

“We sealed our joint spousal agreement,” Elrond smiled. “Thank you for making the rings for us.”

“I did charge Erestor,” Nerdanel pointed out. “Twice the actual value.”

“Do be less hard on him,” Elrond chastised her. “He has to keep his virile, young, layabout of a husband in a manner that befits his station, would you not agree?”

Nerdanel’s laughter made several others look in their direction. A suspicious Eonwe came and retrieved his wife from Elrond. 

Elrond shook his head, told himself to behave and made his way over to where Erestor and Carnilote were engaged in conversation. 

“We were speaking of recent events. My son, I discovered today, has finally decided to do right by you,” Carnilote said teasingly. Elrond grinned at the faint blush colouring Erestor’s cheekbones.

“Frankly, we saw no need of feasts or rings,” Elrond said graciously. 

“Yes, I can see that,” Carnilote said sincerely. “But sometimes, vows and rings can matter the world to a person, even if he was not insecure or suspicious by nature.” 

Elrond thought of Gil-Galad’s ring adorning Erestor’s finger; a dead man’s claim on what was forbidden to Elrond. Carnilote was right.

“I see that you have finally succumbed to the dark lure of ball and chain!” Thranduil crowed as he was led to them by an apologetic Glorfindel. 

“Now you understand why we conspired to send you away,” Erestor teased him, letting Thranduil take him arm and support his weight. 

Elrond had intended to do it himself, for he had noted the drops of perspiration on Erestor’s forehead. But then, Erestor and Thranduil would always be each other’s crutches. 

Carnilote embraced Elrond and murmured, “It pleases me. Somewhere, I am sure, your father will be pleased too when he sees this.”

For once in his life, Elrond was not thinking of the dead. His thoughts were only for Erestor, revolving on how striking his lover was when clad in formfitting cream silken robes. 

“They did not believe in afterlife, Carnilote,” Glorfindel said. “In fact, I am sure that Maedhros made speeches on the subject.”

“I like to believe in afterlife, for my peace of mind,” Carnilote replied easily. 

“Are the lot of you planning to idly drink and gossip all evening?” Celebrian demanded as she joined them. “Elrond, I would have expected you to act responsibly, though I had long given up hope of instilling a sense of duty and propriety in your friends. Come and help Elladan with his finery.”

“Let me ask Erestor for permission, dear. I am a kept man, after all,” Elrond said mischievously.

“You are going,” Erestor said firmly, his sparkling black eyes belying his intentions. “I am not dragging myself over the uneven grounds and the stone floor inside that shabby excuse of a cottage to help Elladan put on his boots.”

“As a long time mentor and guardian of Elladan, I am sure that Glorfindel will be honoured to discharge this duty,” Elrond parried sweetly.

Glorfindel muttered something about his unending duty to keep an eye on the three fools in his care. Celebrian threw her hands in the air and left them in a huff. 

Carnilote smiled and said quietly, “I should greet Melorian now. Take care over the uneven ground, please. And Elrond, don’t devour all the scones.”

“Melorian is here?” Glorfindel queried in a nonchalant voice that fooled nobody.

“She has come with Galdor, her husband,” Carnilote said. 

“She left him!” Glorfindel said tersely, before pursing his lips and returning to his uninterested mask. 

“Laurefindë, if you dare trample on my daughter’s heart again, you will answer to me. I know you have lost, though I have no inkling of who it was. That, however, is no excuse to give my child false hope. You did not do right by her. Do not, mark my words, do not come between what might blossom.”

Perhaps, Elrond thought kindly, as Carnilote spared Glorfindel a last significant look before walking away, that woman was not as worthy of his hatred as she once had been. She seemed to have her redeeming qualities. Elrond had been disgusted when he had seen Glorfindel toying with Melorian’s affections. It might have been because Elrond had no tolerance for games. Erestor, however, had always taken Glorfindel’s side in this matter. Elrond had not spoken his mind then. It was good to see Carnilote speaking her mind. It was better that her words reflected Elrond’s own opinion on the matter. It certainly endeared her to him. He would ask Erestor to invite her to lunch very soon.

“Celeborn is Elladan’s escort to the ceremony,” Thranduil broke the resultant silence. Elrond thought it significant that Thranduil did not say Laiqua’s escort would be Gimli. The fissures in Thranduil’s relationship with Laiqua remained unhealed. 

Thranduil’s voice pulled Elrond from his thoughts. “I met Celeborn yesterday to discuss the matter of his ceremonial robes. He chose a very soothing shade of brown for himself. Then he chose for me. What do you think?’

“Only you could be wallowing in that shade of fuchsia and still look regal,” Erestor assured him.

“Fuchsia?” Thranduil brought his hand to his throat in horror. “Celeborn chose fuchsia?”

“Perhaps he is finally recovering,” Glorfindel said with a mischievous smile. “I will go and see how he is faring with Elladan, then.”

After Glorfindel had walked away, Elrond said softly, “It is Oropher’s green.”

“I know,” Thranduil grinned. “As if Celeborn would ever choose anything else for me. I did dispel the awkwardness of Carnilote’s departure, though.”

“Ever the clown,” Elrond accused, mirth escaping him in a peal of laughter.

“Only for some. Once upon a time, my charades were only for your benefit,” Thranduil said quietly. “You, my dear Elrond, were always sorely in need of a laugh.”

Elrond’s breath caught as he remembered the irresistible, divine perfection of young Thranduil Oropherion, who had entered Elrond’s chambers and heart once upon a dawn in Lindon when Elrond had wept for a love unrequited. 

“See, you get maudlin easily,” Thranduil complained. “I am sure there are tears glittering in your eyes, struggling against your pride to fall down.”

Elrond shook his head and looked at Erestor, who was leaning into Thranduil’s stronger frame with a pensive expression on his face.

“You will be pleased to learn that my seduction skills suffer in no way despite their rustiness,” Thranduil began, a thin thread of desperation in his voice attesting to his discomfort with the silence. 

“Not the chambermaid again!” Erestor protested dutifully.

“Kiss me once and I shall tell,” Thranduil promised. 

“But I am married now!” 

As they slipped into their clowning for Elrond’s sake, he felt wretched. And he felt blessed. The faint dusk rays fell on his ring and he smiled. What need for rings when there were hearts that sang? 

Erestor had come rushing to Thranduil’s aid in Mordor, abandoning Gil. Thranduil had protected Elrond in the last war, and that had cost Gildor. Elrond had done the same for both in many a skirmish. What they shared, Elrond knew, needed no words or vows.

They had made it to the end. Ghosts still lingered tethering Elrond to his past, but they were chased away, for now, by the smell of freshly baked scones wafting on the evening breeze.

“So far we came, and farther we must go. Yet stirs in me no fear, for I am with that I hold dear.”

“Bless you, Elrond,” Thranduil said, pleasant surprise evinced in his tone, “What have you been drinking? It seems potent enough to make you spout verses!”

“Perhaps it is his scones,” Erestor suggested. “He has an unhealthy obsession with them. I shudder to think what he does with them when he is alone in the house.”

“Oysters, I can understand. But scones?”

“And tea.”

“Tea?” Thranduil seemed well and truly scandalised. “How plebeian!”

Elrond stood under the blessed sunset skies and watched the two men he loved, his heart twisting and soaring and finally flying free. 

“Elrond, are you well?” Erestor asked, concern bringing a soft frown to his mien. Thranduil seemed to be equally worried.

“I am fine,” Elrond assured them. 

Elrond’s world was fine. It would remain so. 

\---Fin---

**Author's Note:**

> Sunset was posted under the name J_dav (JDE) a few years ago.


End file.
